Almost Believing this One's Not Pretend
by VeVe2491
Summary: It's only when he's on his knees in the dirty foot-well of his friend's car that Dez realises he might be a little in over his head.


**Author's Note** : Basically just smut. Not my best work. It hit me too close to home and broke my heart. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Almost Believing this One's Not Pretend**

It's only when he's on his knees in the dirty foot-well of his friend's car that Dez realises he might be a little in over his head. It's only as hot, salty tears sting behind his eyelids, and he's struggling to gasp for air, that Dez decides now might be a good time to stop. He doesn't, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Trish will go berserk when he tells her later; she always does. The scene will play out in the usual way; once Dez is done here he'll get to the bus stop across the street and call his best friend, he'll spend ten minutes gushing about the _wonderful_ night he's had, and then another twenty sobbing down the line about how dirty he feels. It's the same sad story over and over and over again.

The thing about thinking, however, is that it often kills the mood, and Dez will be damned if he lets that happen, so with a shake of his head and a renewed bout of determination he banishes the unwelcome thoughts from his mind, focusing hard on the task at hand.

The air around him is hot, with every intake of breath Dez finds it harder to keep a steady pace. A quick glance upwards sends a fresh wave of relief coursing through his veins; the windows are too steamed up for anyone to see in or out, less chance of getting caught. He thinks briefly of the camera he knows is several feet away in the empty parking lot, but Dez is a trooper so he perseveres anyway.

There's a sharp intake of breath from above, and Dez grins to himself, pleased he's doing his job right. The hand in Dez's hair tightens, yanking and pulling the redhead along, encouraging him to go deeper, always deeper. Dez obeys.

Slim hips buck upward and Dez hums around the thick member that's resting on his tongue and jabbing at his throat. Dez swallows around the length of it and the barely contained groan that reverberates throughout the ancient car is enough to send Dez teetering to the edge of his own orgasm. He bobs up and down, swirling his tongue around the swollen red head and flicking his tongue over the slit. He's desperate for recognition.

Another moan and Dez smirks, taking the spit slick shaft down all the way again until he's practically choking on it. Calloused hand push his fringe away from his face and Dez positively preens at the motion, at knowing he's being watched. As he continues his administrations, pushing himself to work faster and harder, there's a garbled line of curses from above.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," each cuss is punctuated with a twitch of hips.

Dez moves back, letting go with an obscene pop just as hot ropes of cum shoot forward, coating his face and decorating his eyelashes. He happily takes it all.

* * *

There's a stillness in the car once all is said and done. Dez has found himself back in the passenger seat, back pressed against the door and knees tucked up against his chest. His face is still sticky with sweat and cum, and he knows his hair looks more like a nest than a mop but he can't find it in himself to move so he just sits, sits and stares.

The driver doesn't seem to notice. Despite the fact that his semen is what paints Dez's cheeks, he remains nonchalant. The only evidence that he'd been sucked dry just moments prior lies in the pink flush beneath his milky flesh, and the shakiness that follows his every intake of air. Beyond this he is the picture of composure, even his thumb remains steady as he scrolls across the illuminated screen in his palm, double tapping on picture after picture of every half decent, practically naked girl that appears on his page.

Finally, the other boy looks up, and in the glow of the streetlamp outside his hair is lit up like a halo; Dez could choke on the irony.

"We should probably get home," he says, but Dez finds it hard to concentrate on his words, finding his focus is solely on his lips and without thought he lunges forward and presses his own against them.

The driver chuckles against his lips, smiling into the kiss as he places a gentle hand on Dez's sternum, pushing him away. "It's late. I have work tomorrow."

Trish's voice rings in Dez's ears - " _Dez, people who care about you and want to get to know you, beyond your dick sucking capabilities, don't give a fuck about losing sleep if it means they get to hang out with you." -_ Dez opts to ignore her.

He nods, albeit reluctantly, before leaning in for one last chaste kiss, which again is met with another laugh and a nudge towards the door. "Maybe next time you could ask me to hang out?" Dez says, as his hand finds the door handle. He tries to keep the tone of hope out of his voice and is annoyed when he achieves the opposite.

The other boy laughs, glimpsing down at his phone as it vibrates in his hand, before answering. "I told you. I like my own company, I don't even ask my friends to go out." Dez pretends his words don't sting; he's not even worth friendship.

Dez nods and tries to shrug off the hurt, but it clings to him just like the smell of cheap aftershave that permeates the car's faux leather interior. The car beeps in farewell as Dez opens the door, the cool air of the outside world a welcome change to the heat of the last hour. He shivers as he glances around the empty parking lot, wondering how long it'll take him to get home tonight.

The engine roars to life behind him, and the car's bright lights cast shadows across the asphalt. Dez watches as they dance across the gravel, slender misshapen bodies moving gracefully away from him, as if they too are ashamed of him. There's the sound of an electric window opening and it's all Dez can do not to let optimism turn him around.

"I'll try to text you when I get home, okay?" The driver calls from the comfort of his _Corolla_ and Dez knows he won't but even an empty promise is enough to get his heart racing. "Goodnight Dez."

"Goodnight Austin!" Dez calls back but the car is already speeding away from him.

Later on Trish will accuse him of having stars in his eyes when it comes to Austin Moon, and Dez will cry into her shoulder wondering what he did wrong, and why he wasn't good enough, and he'll swear blind that tonight was the last time and yes, he knows he deserves better. But they both know that a week from now Dez will be on his knees again and the stars will turn to rocks and cycle will begin again.


End file.
